


rational creatures

by popunkarts



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/F, Marriage, Tension, because who can resist john, but it all works out, esme lee - Freeform, john shelby - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29072148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popunkarts/pseuds/popunkarts
Summary: you’re picked to be married off to a peaky boy to settle a fight you didn’t start. you won’t go without a fight of your own.
Relationships: Esme Shelby/Reader, John Shelby/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	rational creatures

**Author's Note:**

> come visit me pollyrepents.tumblr.com mwah

“Wake up.” A distant whisper and dull thud of a beaded bag began to pull you from your slumber. You pressed your face into your scratchy blanket, attempting to return to sleep’s warm embrace. The vardo shifted slightly as the friendly intruder moved, their breath against your face. You wrinkled your nose, grumbling as you turned over.

“Mum says get up.” Cold fingers against the back of your neck accompanied the words this time and you hissed, swatting at the hand. Another other hand came to press thin and icy fingers against the base of your throat and you groaned in frustration.

The childish yet cruel tactic forced open your eyes, looking directly into your sister’s concerned face. 

“What, Esme.” You batted at her freckled face, rubbing at your eyes with your other hand.

“It’s nearly four and mum-”

“I don’t care,” You cut through her words quickly, rolling your eyes at the mention of your mother “she can get me if she needs me.”

“Mum says get up.” Esme stood from beside you, instant this time as she tugged the blanket off of your frame despite your protest. “We have to get ready.”

With new found curiosity you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, looking at Esme with wide eyes. “Mum’s letting us out today?”

Esme hesitated before she nodded, reaching out to push your messy curls back from your eyes. “We have to look nicer today.”

“It’s about time-she’s let Danny and Erasmus keep us holed up in here like horses for too long.” You scoffed. “Nothing to dress nicer for. She’ll pitch a fit and we’ll only get mud on our clothes-“

“Not today.” Your sister dug around in the trunk before your bed, pulling out a brush and the few make up items she rarely used herself.

Moving slowly, you sat up on your knees in the bed and watched Esme closer. You pushed the curtain aside and peeked out the window above your bed, seeing nothing out of the ordinary as your family roamed the lands where you had settled for the summer.

“Esme.” You turned back to the dark haired woman as she raked her fingers through her hair. “Esme, you’re acting strange. Are we meeting a boy? Another one of those boys with the blade in their caps?”

“Y/N,” She scowled at the brush in her hands as she began to pull the shed hair from between the bristles. “you said you wouldn’t talk about him.”

“He was nice.” You pushed your sister, grinning as her cheeks started to color the pink way they did on the rare occasion Esme’s buttons were pushed. “He thought you were nice. He thought the lipstick was nice.”

“He was looking for an easy shag.”She retorted, invested in her cleaning.

“He was trying to fuck you over a of a car’s hood soon as he could find one.” You laughed loudly as Esme tossed the brush in your direction.

She scowled up at you, moving to her feet to stand. “Not so loud!”

“Don’t be a prude.” You scoffed. “He had nice hair. The curls were sweet but that fucking peaky hair cut was something ugly.” You crossed your legs at your ankles, biting your lip to hold back a giggle. “I think you should have seen what he was carrying-”

The door swung open and your mouth snapped shut, fearing one of your brothers had overheard the less than ladylike conversation. You looked up, your mother’s kohl lined eyes looking over you before moving to Esme.

Zilpha’s deep voice spoke slowly, her Romani words sharper than normal. “She is supposed to be dressed by now.” 

“She took forever to get up, again.” Esme shot you a look before looking up at your mother. “I’ll braid her hair first. Then the clothes.”

“I don’t need it braided for the fair.” You scoffed, standing and throwing your arms up over your head, stretching dramatically. You let your upper half fall forward, touching the tips of your toes and shaking out your hair. “Just the fair.” You stood up straight, eyes meeting your mother’s. “Mum won’t want us to have any attention from the bloody Birmingham boys.” You dropped your voice to a nearly perfected imitation of your mother. “No fun for the girls, no.“

“Shoes, Y/N.” Zilpha ordered, her thin hand pushing your back onto the bed. You huffed and sat up, pulling your feet under you. “You need to look fresh today.”

“I always look fresh.” You snapped, a hand coming up to gently push her hand off of you. Esme held her breath as Zilpha’s hand rose and you braced yourself for a quick smack the best you could, but she passed her hand over your messy curls and took a deep breath instead. She looked to Esme and nodded, who sat behind you and started to brush your hair out. Esme’s hands were gentle, the years of caution used to avoid one of your loud tantrums from tugging too hard on a knot reemerged with muscle memory. She began to weave your hair, a tight braid perfected by campfire light many moons ago. 

Your mother’s hand came under your chin as Esme wrapped ribbon around the ends of your hair, gently tilting your head back to look at your face. “I thought Esme would be wed first.” She stepped out of the vardo and her confession hung in the air.

“Wed?” You spoke softly, a chill shooting down your spine. 

“You’ll need to get dressed.”Esme stated. She reached behind her, yanking the small curtain over the window.

You pushed past your sister and looked out the window again, seeing a large group of men in crisp suits with peaky caps. “Esme,what does she mean wed. Esme? Why did she say wed!” You demanded, turning to stare down your sister.

“Mum says you’ve gone too wild to keep up with in camps.” Esme spoke plainly, looking straight at you. “She’s found the bottles of whiskey under your mat and she’s found you someone good. A peaky-“

“Good?” You laughed in disbelief, reaching back to tug the braid out of your hair. You fumbled with the ribbon, giving a shout of frustration when it pulled your hair roughly. “A peaky boy? Good!?”

“They started a fight,” She explained as if it were dinner plans. “Mum is ending it with you.”

In a second you were on your feet, toes sinking into the mud as you ran toward your mother’s vardo, shouting at the top of your lungs. “I won’t do it! I won’t let you do it,not to me!”

She turned toward you from where she was in conversation with the suited men, most of whom looked older and war torn the same way the one who sought out Esme looked. “Y/N, go get dressed-”

“I won’t take orders from you and I won’t marry him!” You pointed a trembling hand at the man who stood closest to you two, his flat cap obscuring his face. “I won’t do it. Not to that bastard.”

Zilpha’s hands came to grip your biceps, shaking you roughly. “You’ll marry him to save your sister, won’t you? Your brother? Their mouths started a war and they have a man who needs a wife. You need a husband.” 

“I don’t need shit! I won’t be a housewife for a fucking Shelby.” You spat, trying to see around your mother to pick out the possible groom. A few of the men chuckled at the gruff words of the tallest in the group and you began to speak loudly, hoping they heard. “I won’t be wed to one of those-those fucking animals!”

“What choice do you have.” She grabbed your chin with one hand, speaking lowly in Romani to you. “He already has kids, you won’t need to have many.”

“I won’t have any with him!”

“But you’ll stop him from having Esme, won’t you?” She looked into your eyes and your glare faltered at the mention of harm coming to your sister. “His kids will be good for you, he’ll be good for you.”

“And if he cuts me a smile when I won’t go to bed with him?” Your hands shook as you pushed your mother’s hand away from your face, a grimace of disgust coming across your own at the idea of a man like him putting his bloody hands on you under your dress.

“You will.” She tucked a loose curl behind your ear, her smile empty as she looked at you with eyes that mirrored Esme’s. “You’re here in Birmingham with a husband, or you’re left here without anything. The last thing I want is to raise your bastard on the road after you’ve been reckless.”

“Y/N, please.” Esme stood on the steps of your vardo, a lacy white veil in her hands. “Just put on the fucking dress!”

You stole one last glance at the men as they spoke with Johnny Dogs and you stomped back up into your room, tugging at your nightdress. “I won’t have him. I won’t let him have me, I’ll kill him before he does.”

“You won’t need to.” Esme promised, pulling out a white dress from the bag she discarded on the floor upon entrance.

“I’ll cut his balls off before we have kids.” You swore, snatching the veil from her hands and trying your best to fix it to your hair, “If he’s old and ugly, I’ll slit my throat with his cap before we’re man and wife. If he’s mean, I’ll poison his tea and give his ankle-biters to his stupid brother. I’ll find you on the road.”

“Don’t speak like that.” Esme hushed you, fastening the buttons on the back of your dress. “I don’t think mum would pick someone who would beat you. Old and ugly, maybe.”

“She’ll pick someone ugly and mean to make my life a living hell one more time before she abandons me in a shit city with a litter of filthy bastard kids I don’t fucking want-”

“Your groom is ready for you.” Your mother spoke from outside of the vardo, making no notion she heard your complaints, and if she did, she did not make it evident she cared. 

“Let me get a look first.” Esme came around your front, her eyes brimming with tears. 

“Stop, Esme.”You gently pushed at her shoulder, heat creeping up your cheeks despite the circumstance. “I’m being sold.”

“You look lovely.”She whispered, pulling the veil over your face. “He’ll love you.”

“I hope he doesn’t.” Your hands ran over the lace details of the dress, familiar curves of your own body feeling foreign in in wedding attire. “I hope he walks away from me in front of them all and makes mum regret everything.”

On your short walk to the altar, you stared firmly at your kitten heels handed down from your sister. You thought about muddy bare feet in the grass, how you would chase Esme along the rivers and always end up filthy but happy. How a husband was going to take that from you.

Too high and mighty to feel like a Lee, too dirty to feel like a Shelby.

You knelt before Johnny Dogs, looking up at the small knife in his hand briefly before someone came to kneel beside you. Your breath caught in your chest, listening to any indication of a wheeze of an ailing man or a grunt of one well beyond your age. Instead, you heard a soft hum as he settled himself. Johnny began to speak, and you grit your teeth. At the mention of togetherness, your hands came up to lift your white veil. You braced yourself, turning slightly to look at your new husband.

Your eyes met his blue ones, and you felt the wind leave your chest. You were expecting an old, war riddled Shelby with a heavy hand and permanent frown, the rumors following him to the altar.. Instead, his face was full and round with pink and plump lips, a smattering of freckles over his pale skin. 

You forced a tight lipped smile, deciding against speaking over the man above the two of you. He turned around to smirk at someone behind the two of you.

He still smiled.

You felt yourself blushing at the idea of him being excited at the thought of bringing you home.

“Do you, John Michael Shelby, take Y/N Y/M/N Lee, to be your beautiful wife?”

John. 

You almost mouthed the word, wanting to feel the letters brush past your lips. You could get used to John.

Johnny Dogs’ penetrating voice pulled you away from your thoughts and John’s smile had spread to your face. 

“Well?” Johnny raised an eyebrow and you let yourself grin, nodding.

“I do.” Your voice was soft and John huffed a laugh beside you.

“There remains one more part of the ceremony,” Johnny spoke to the crowd and you tried not to stare at John, eyes remaining on Johnny’s knees out of fear of possibly blushing to death in front of your family and his. “That’s the mingling of the two bloods. Where the two families become the one family.”

He unsheathed the knife in his hand, taking John’s rough hand in his own and dragging the blade across. John took the pain without flinching, looking down at his palm. 

You pulled away as Johnny extended a hand for your own, you straightened at the feeling of John’s hand coming up to rest on your lower back.

“Don’t worry, doll.” His voice was low and gravelly, “it’s only a second.”

You put your hand out, wincing at the pain as Johnny made the cut.

Your hand in John’s, you were pronounced man and wife. 

He hesitated, but you leaned in and pulled your joined hands closer, pressing your lips to his as your families cheered around you. 

As the evening of celebration wore on, booze began to flow and tongues began to loosen. 

You shrieked with giggles as your new husband spun you around in a dance, Johnny’s fiddle playing feeding your energies of excitement as you danced. He grabbed your waist, his hands heavy from alcohol and excitement as he pulled you close, turning his head to kiss the inside of your elbow when you threw your arms over his shoulders.

“My brothers heard you pitch a fit earlier,” He was grinning as he said it. “Tommy was impressed.”

“What do I care how impressed a Shelby was? I’m not marrying the lot of you. Especially, especially not Tommy.” You slid your fingers into his soft hair, giving it a short tug. Within the few hours you had been married, you had become fond of messing up his identifying haircut, strands sticking up every which way from your fingers running through it when you got the chance. “I need another drink.”

You stumbled over to the small table that held bottles of whiskey, pulling the top off of one and tilting your head back to sip. You still wrinkled your nose at the burning sensation, the taste too bitter for your own enjoyment.

“Easy on that, ay?” Danny spoke up from where he was smoking a cigar, watching your hands too closely. “Before that Shelby boy gets a clue.”

“A clue?” You hiccupped, pausing before tilting your head back to drink. “What clue would he get from his wife drinking on her wedding night?”

“The kind of clue that comes nine months later, or the one he sends you to a back room for.” He laughed as he said it. 

“His aunt’s a women of God.” You spoke up, face burning from the alcohol and the heat and the beginnings of fury stirring in your chest. “He’s got kids of his own. Wouldn’t send me off to get rid of ours.”

“He wouldn’t get rid of the brand new wife’s baby?”He sneered.

“We’ll learn to love each other.” 

“You’re a doll to him.” He scoffed, tipping back his own glass. “How you changed in a matter of hours.”

“You’re drunk, you ass.” You spat. “I’m married to him. We’ll learn to live with it and each other. John’s not you. John’s not mum or dad or Johnny Dogs-”

“I gotta go.” John’s hand wrapped around your bicep and you turned your head to look at him. His brow was pinched with worry. “Ada’s- her water’s- she’s having the baby. Come on, I’ll take you home-”

“I can go with you!” You blurted, desperate to get away from your family. “I helped Esme deliver our sister’s babies.” You insisted, grabbing onto your husband’s arm. “Let me help your sister, John.”

He hesitated, be it the alcohol or the idea of you integrating so suddenly and intimately into his family, but nodded. “Come on, then.”


End file.
